I bolted to my feet, nearly tripping over myself, though my heart calmed when I realized no one sat at the keys. The music reverberated from every wall, breaking the silence like an energetic morning rooster. Despite myself, I smiled, then laughed in delight.
I took a step and turned on my toes. With what seemed to be delight of its own, the instrument switched to an upbeat country jig. I had no partner, but I danced all the same, and as I held half an arch for my imaginary peers to duck beneath, I joined my voice to the harp-hearted keys:
“Lolly Lyla at the door / Wonder who she’s looking for”—the harpsichord interjected a trill of arpeggios—“Dance, my darling, all the day / Her poor boy has gone away.”
Between the dancing and the singing, I quickly lost my breath. Though I loved music, I was no singer, not like Callista. When we lived in the city, it would have been Astra at the harpsichord with Callista’s angelic voice carrying the melody to the heavens. As for me, my only musical talent—
A violin appeared on the harpsichord bench, polished wood shining in the light.
I came to an abrupt stop, panting for breath. When the instrument didn’t vanish, I hesitantly approached, then lifted it by the neck. A bow appeared in my hand.
The harpsichord, which had fallen silent, plucked a few quiet keys.
As I settled both violin and bow into place, my eyes stung. My violin in the city had been a fine instrument, but it paled next to the sleek work of art in my hands, and when I drew the bow across the strings, the violin sang with a voice to rival Callista. The ballroom windows burst open, sunlight streaming in to cast patterned reflections on every wall.
Once I started, I couldn’t stop. My favorite sonata first. Then every piece I’d ever poured hours into, every melody my mind could recall or invent, running one over the other like a river on its way to the falls. All the while, the harpsichord never wavered in its accompaniment, complementing my performance as if it could read my mind to anticipate the notes. Even if I warbled an intonation, it struck the closest harmony possible, covering my mistakes with its enchanted elegance.
I played until my arms ached.
When I was finally satisfied enough to lower the violin, sweating with exertion and grinning at the empty harpsichord as its final note faded in the air, the castle seemed at least tolerable.
Now I had a way to fill the silence.
I refused to set the violin down, afraid it would vanish if I did. Surely another one would appear with a thought, but I had the selfish impulse that another one wouldn’t do. It must bethisone. There was no need to tune it—it was always in tune, and if I tried to adjust the strings at all, it would only right itself. In the same way, the bow never needed rosin, and though I played relentlessly, I never broke a hair.
At the end of the day, I carried it to my room and tucked it carefully into the hollow beneath my window seat.
The pesky bar of soap returned, flitting around my head. It brought a bathtub with it this time, gleaming silver before the fireplace as a cheerful, low fire crackled to life. The water in the tub steamed gently. Even from the other side of the room, I could smell rose blossoms, my mother’s favorite bath scent.
I glanced at the door. In three days, I had not been disturbed.
I could not remain unbathed forever.
Would I be here forever?
Setting my jaw, I crossed the room and bolted the door. A second bolt appeared, and I slid that one in as well. I undressed before I could change my mind and slipped into the blissfully hot water.
For a few moments, it was heaven, but then it grew harder to breathe as I imagined at any moment the door might rattle. I scrubbed as quickly as I could, outpacing the enchanted soaps and brushes that flitted around me. At least the towel was quick, as if sensing my unease.
I reached for my dress before I’d even finished drying. But I had been right to worry.
It was gone.
“Give me my clothes back,” I snapped. My heart began to pound. “Now.”
The wardrobe snapped open, proudly displaying a velvet gown of gleaming amber with lace at the collar and gems in the bodice.
“No,mine.”My voice turned shrill. “Right now. Give me my clothes back. Give them to me now!”
The wardrobe shuddered and withdrew the dress, closing its doors. It seemed to droop, but my plain linen clothes appeared folded on the chair where they had been before. They were spotlessly clean.
I yanked on my shift and dress, glancing at the door. Only once I was fully clothed could I breathe again.
A floating brush attempted to strike at my wet hair, but I pushed it away, and it relented, as the wardrobe had. I shivered and wrapped my arms around myself.
Had the magic forced itself on me, I would have had no way to fight it.
The thought was enough to drive me from my room and out the front doors of the castle. Night had fallen, but despite my shivers, I sat on a stone bench in the garden and refused to move. In the woods far beyond the castle, something howled.
